


If I Could Feel Your Touch, If I Could Be Your Love

by oneforyourfire



Series: *Miracles in December* [9]
Category: C-Pop, Chinese Actor RPF, EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 01:50:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9856580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: And Lu Han has to take what he can, what he wants, what he needs, what Joonmyun so readily, so dizzingyly, so perfectly offers (alleyway shenanigans au)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psharp10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psharp10/gifts).



> the prompt for this was "public" and "suhan" so warnings for that. also this is another instance of ao3 user oneforyourfire stumbling through unknown ships (what even is an nonxiuhan lu?????????)

There are moments sometimes—acutely _painful_ moments of perfectly demanding need sometimes—when Lu Han looks at Joonmyun and just _has_ to kiss him, has to touch him, has to make him come. _Has to_. And even though they’re racing back to their apartment to cook dinner, cutting through the alley to save time because Joonmyun has never done well with cold because the moonlight reflects in such a _way_ that it can’t be helped. Lu Han just _has_ to press him against the alley wall by the bakery and kiss him. He just _has_ to, but oh, Joonmyun doesn't have to respond, doesn't have to part his lips and his thighs, drop their paper bag of groceries on the floor. 

Joonmyun doesn't have to, but he does. 

And Lu Han has to take what he can, what he wants, what he needs, what Joonmyun so readily, so dizzingyly, so perfectly offers. Lu Han has to kiss him harder in response, has to take his consent and demand even more as slides his tongue between Joonmyun’s lips, cages him bodily against the brick wall, drunk on the hazy warm, wet want he can taste in his open mouth, the tremor of arousal he can feel shivering through his pinned body. 

“Here?” Lu Han wants to ask. “Want me even here? Want me how I want you? Right now?” 

The thought alone makes his head spin, his body shudder, his teeth too sharp, too desperate on the swell of Joonmyun’s bottom lip. 

“Hyung,” Joonmyun groans. 

And Lu Han cups his jaw, feels the quiver of his pulse, shuddering at the way that Joonmyun pushes back into his touch so, so easily. His wide, dark eyes blink heavily through the touch, and his teeth catch on his bottom teeth. And it's so disarmingly perfect and hot and needy. 

_How_ , he thinks, _how_. 

Lu Han’s arms wind around Joonmyun’s body, ghosting over the static shock of wool and down feathers to the faint swell of his ass, and Joonmyun just _lets_ him, his mittened hands skating down the tremble of Lu Han’s arms, clothed ass pushing back in mindless invitation. 

And oh, they both have to keep going. 

There’s another shock when Lu Han's mouth skims Joonmyun’s throat, a sizzling spark as he drags his lips along the exposed column of his pale, trembling throat. 

And Joonmyun, he’s so breathless and earnest and handsome and gorgeous and wanting, baring his throat and spreading his legs and connecting further with the filthy wall behind him as his hands stumble down the arch of Lu Han’s spine. Encouraging, encouraging, encouraging. 

Lu Han’s shoes squeak against the grimy floor and his skin prickles in the cold, but all that matters it the sharp spice of Joonmyun’s aftershave, the softness of his skin, the way his body strains to push into Lu Han’s over and over again, denimed crotch grinding in a stifled, inelegant promise of more. 

Right here, right now, just like this. 

Lu Han can’t deny himself, can’t deny Joonmyun either. 

Lu Han parts his lips with a groan, and he can taste the heady race of his pulse, feel the encouraging trembly stutter of his fingers up Lu Han’s back as his lips drag over the bite of Joonmyun’s zipper, his hands tremble in the winter chill, glide over the stiff denim at his thighs. 

“Touch me, hyung,” Joonmyun coaxes, and Lu Han can’t deny him that either, has to has to has to, skating his fingers shakily inwards, pressing the heel of his palm down hard as Joonmyun _surges_. 

Lu Han loves the shaky, hot, hot taste of Joonmyun’s moan as he mouths at Joonmyun’s quivering jawline, curls his fingers, touches him—with feeling, with the breathless desire that always mananges to make Joonmyun pliant and hot and shivery with need. 

“Lu ge,” Joonmyun whispers when Lu Han, paralyzed with desire, pauses. “Lu ge,” he repeats. “ _Touch_ me.” And the shadows look stark and sharp and hot on the line sof his flushed face, and his throat bobs, a shudder of a response when Lu Han presses again—harder. A repeat, and Joonmyun’s head tosses back against the wall. His stuttering breath blows hot and white, whirling in the streetlight’s golden glow. 

“Joonmyunnie,” he rasps, loving it when he whimpers as he shudders into the touch. 

And Lu Han can’t be bothered by the biting chill of January air, the stale stench of old garbage, the diisembodied echo of footfalls, the white noise of cars racing past, voices, too. 

All that matters is Joonmyun, and how he doesn’t have to but he still is—hard and hot and heavy and perfect, grinding insistently on Lu Han’s hand, shuddering and whimpering and wanting him and needing him right now, too. 

And oh, Lu Han wants him sometimes with the utter recklessness of youth, the bumbling stupid possesive danger of it. Would tug down Joonmyun’s pants and finger him with spit-slick fingers, knowing he could take it, knowing that he’d _want_ it, too. 

As it is, this right here, right now, it’s more than enough to have Lu Han’s head hazy with desire, his skin tight and heart racing with it. 

“Tell me when you’re close,” Lu Han urges, nipping, as he tugs him free of his pants, his heatech thermals, his striped boxers. 

Joonmyun hisses and jerks at the cold, but pushes readily into Lu Han’s hand again, moaning softly in encouragement again as Lu Han curls his fingers in a loose fist and strokes once.

It’s even better skin to skin. 

This is not the time, nor the place for tortuously slow leadins or smug teasing, so Lu Han doesn’t. 

Efficient and eager from the start, intent on making Joonmyun come as fast as hard as possible, Lu Han  
pants into Joonmyun’s throat as he strokes his fast and hard and tight just exactly how he likes, just right to have him gasping and moaning and straining on his tiptoes to push push push. 

“Hyung,” he says, a gratifyingly needy, needy warning, and Lu Han drops to his knees, anf Joonmyun’s fingers scrape painfully ove rhis scalp as he groans darkly in pleasure, pushing his hip up in wanton invitation.

And Lu Han sucks him down immediately, sucks hard hard hard as he digs his trembling fingers into Joonmyun’s thighs. 

Joonmyun chokes on a moan— _Lu ge_ —curls forward sharply, spurts hot and heavy down Lu Han’s throat, and Lu Han swallows every bitter drop, groaning as Joonmyun’s fingernails catch on the peeks of bare skin at his shoulders.

The open zipper, starched denim scrapes against his chek as he recovers, pulls off to pant wet and labored near the gaping opening of Joonmyun’s wrinkled jeans. 

Joonmyun, all soft golden skin and shivering limbs and ruddy, parted lips and dark, lidded eyes, cast sharp and stark in the harsh shadow is the perfect portrait of sleepy satiation. 

It takes the barest urging, a small, strong hand curled around the nape of his neck, a quiet, too breathy, too beautiful _hyung_ for him to be stumbling to his shaky feet. 

“Hyung,” Joonmyun says, and his fingers are clumsy but intent, skating immediately beneath his waistband, his palm draging over Lu Han’s painful erection with a practiced perfection that has sharp, sharp pleasure jolting through his veins.

He’s pulled off his mittens, and Lu Han tips forward to watch the muscles in his wrist work, gets too overwhelmed and crashes his forehead against Joonmyun’s sternum instead, pushing his hips helplessly into the touch. 

Joonmyun free hand pets thorugh his hair to hold him there, the movement messy still, too sharp still.  
His nail bite into the nape of Lu Han’s neck, fingers molding in a careless, arresting caress.

Stay stay stay right here. Right now. Need you right here, right now like you need me. 

Lu Han hisses around an airy moan, pushes pushes pushes into the perfect, practiced pressure. This close, he’s reduced to a mess of shivery, mindless need, inelegant and crude and helpless, just breathy moans, jerking hips, insistent fingers wound tight around Joonmyun’s shoulders. 

Joonmyun’s stroke tightens, quickens—just right, just perfect to send him shivering breathlessly closer closer closer.

“Joonmyun,” he pants. “Joonmyunnie.” 

And Joonmyun strains upwards to kiss over the column of his throat, rasps out a ruined, ruined _Lu ge_ , and Lu Han comes in Joonmyun’s hand, his own pants so hard and so long that he can taste it on the back of his throat, feel it shivering so monumentally through every frayed nerve ending. His body trembles, jaw slackens, knees lock. It’s Joonmyun’s body that keep him upright, his breathless laugh that brings him back to earth. And Lu Han has to kiss him again. And Joonmyun doesn’t have to, but he still kisses back, softer and slow and sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> [give me your affection and your honesty](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ynjOTMrO_X8)
> 
>  
> 
> this is miracles in march now, i guess  
> but listen, i love you


End file.
